Patience
by demuredemeanor
Summary: Castle and Beckett are leaning toward each other, very slowly.
1. Chapter 1

**This just popped into my head, I could not help but write it down.**

**Disclaimer: You know how it works, I own nothing.**

"Castle what the hell are you doing?" It was a phrase which frequently rolled off her tongue. The things Richard Castle did never ceased to irritate and intrigue her.

This time she had caught him dancing. Obviously he did not realise he had an audience as this particular routine was not the usual groove which people bust in public either. He was doing more than just wiggling his hips. Arms and legs flailing in an awkward yet coordinated fashion.

He froze. Then ever-so-slowly he pivoted on his heels to face her. "Nothing," he said innocently. He slowly brought his legs together and moved his arms from their compromising positions.

"Sure Castle," she kept her cool. "If you keep wiggling those hips you'll bring all the boys to the yard." She continued past him, back towards her desk.

He scoffed and found an awkward smile playing across his lips. It dawned on him, she was 'pulling his pigtails', for once so he silently fell into step beside her.

"So Castle, what about this case has you busting a move?" She doesn't look at him, just sits at her desk and resumes her work.

He sits in his usual chair, beside her desk and pauses long enough that she stops to look at him. The awkward smile plastered across his face is apparently infectious.

He realises she is expecting an answer. "Nothing. I –uh, um…" he trails off stupidly. He can under no circumstance tell her.

The smile drops from her face. "Richard Castle speechless, this has to be a first." She decides to ignore how uncomfortable he is, she knows whatever he is so reluctant to tell her will come out eventually.

**I've been tossing around a few ways that I can continue this so if anyone's interested I'm happy to oblige.**


	2. Chapter 2

They had finished for the day. Case closed. Perpetrator apprehended. Charges filed. Castle had long since left the precinct, making a vague excuse about a discussion with his daughter he needed to have. They had all known he didn't need to sit and watch while they wrote their reports. "Night Castle," she'd murmured her usual farewell, too engrossed in her report to meet his gaze for more than a second. Maybe if she had she would have not been so shocked when her phone buzzed across her desk a little after seven.

"Beckett," she greeted simply, automatically, while she continued her work.

"Hey," he said simply.

It stopped her in her tracks, leaving her pen poised lightly in her fingertips.

There was a moment they were both silent. She waited for him to continue. He took the moment to smile, he could tell he had interrupted her, but she didn't chastise him.

"What's up, Castle?" Determined to seem unphased she kept it simple and hoped her tone didn't convey her confusion.

"I was just checking up on you," he confessed.

"Why?" She sat back in her chair, her brows pulled together.

"Well I thought…" he hesitated, "we both need to eat and it turns out my daughter has better plans than to spend an evening with her old man." It cames out as a rush of words, but she could hear the hint of hurt in his voice.

She considered for a moment. She needed to finish her statement, reread it and edit. "Give me half an hour. I'll bring pizza," she conceded. She hung up without another word. Inviting herself over had been a little presumptuous, but she had to give herself some control over this. Whatever _this_ was and at that moment it was mainly his astounding ability to rattle her.

When she knocked on his door he opened it with a flourish. He had been eagerly waiting, the smile which played across his lips was mischievous – he knows she could tell, but that she expected nothing less.

She didn't say anything in greeting, just thrust the pizza box at his chest and gave him a shy smile. She shed her coat and boots and left them by the door, then silently followed him to his dining room. He was waiting, plates in hand. She curled her leg under herself as she sat. He grabbed a jug of water and two glasses then set them on the table in front of her. There was a rhythm to their movements, a practiced nature that neither of them has ever noticed.

"Did you finish everything?" he asked casually as he grabbed another slice, content with their silence no longer.

She finished her mouthful and took a sip of water. "Not quite, but everything urgent is finished." Her voice was softer than normal, or maybe it just lacked the hard edge it had for so long that afternoon as she interrogated their suspect.

He was satisfied with her answer. He knews then he wasn't keeping her from filling a deadline and that it was likely Esposito and Ryan both left an hour before he called. At least he knew tonight she could relax, not spend her whole evening alone in the bullpen, considering death. They solved the case, she deserved this.

"Where's Alexis?" she asked offhandedly but curious. She could see the concentration on his face, maybe if she distracted him he would relax a little.

He looked up. "She's at the park with a group of her friends." He returned his gaze to his food, considered his third slice with some hesitation.

Beckett didn't hesitate. "She shouldn't be in the park after dark, alone. Something could go wrong." She had seen it too many times to count, a young woman found murdered for her purse, her jewellery or even her shoes. It was the way a cop had to think.

He smiled at her, unconcerned. "She is not alone she's with a big group. Plus she is… in a very well lit area of the park and she'll be home in about an hour," his tone nonchalant.

Beckett's eyes unconsciously flicked to the clock, it was just after eight. She relaxed a little. Alexis was old enough and mature enough to take care of herself, but it is the other people out there that she doubted.

"Finished?" he interrupted, gestured that he'd take her plate.

"Yeah, sorry." His question brought her back to reality and she dismissed her concern. She simply stood and passed it to him. She picked up their glasses and the jug and followed him back into his kitchen. As she approached the counter he was reaching back to take them from her, having already set the plates and pizza box on the sink.

"Won't be two secs," he said and motioned her away, he didn't need her help.

"Castle-" she began to protest then realised how pointless it is. In the time it would take for them to have the argument about her helping he would be finished putting away the leftovers and stacking the dishwasher.

He saw the resignation in her eyes before the huff escaped her lips as she turned and wandered off. "I never took you for a quitter," he teased after her, but she had already disappeared from his line of sight, ignoring him. So he set to work.

He started the dishwasher with his tongue pressed to his teeth, concentrating. When he heard the machine whir to life, he stood and rinsed his hands under the faucet while his eyes scanned for signs of Beckett.

He found her, standing silently in his study. Looking out the window, but not standing in front of it. Her body was facing his bookshelf, as if she turned away as he came in the room, busted. "What're you doing?" he spoke softly, hoping he hadn't startled her too much.

"Just curious." She didn't offer any more of an explanation than that.

He didn't approach her, just perched himself on the edge of his desk, never taking his eyes off her silhouetted form. "It was so quiet out there I thought you'd gone home. You could have turned the light on you know, given me a hint."

She could hear the smirk in his voice, teasing her. Their relationship was changing, she knew that. She had known for a while now. She'd been working through her issues but she was also not pulling away from him. They had found a balance, finally.

"Thanks for dinner Castle." She didn't turn to face him, she had not need to so she went back to perusing his bookshelf.

He chuckled. He had made the suggestion, she had done the rest, but he knew what she meant. She was thanking him for his invitation not the actual dinner. "You're welcome Detective."

They both got lost in their own thoughts then. Beckett intrigued by the things around her, Castle lost in the story board which stood in the far corner.

"When was this taken?" she asked as she rounded to a new section of his shelves, turning to look at him for the first time since he has come into the room as she does. Then she stared down at her hands again, at the picture of the Richard Castle the world doesn't know.

"Um Alexis was about six, it was our summer vacation 2000," he responded automatically, his concentration elsewhere. It was the picture of Alexis and himself building a sandcastle, he could tell by where her voice came from in the room.

"Who took it?" her tone puzzled as she considered the framing, the lighting and the candid nature of their pose. Did he really get followed by some kind of paparazzi then buy the photographic rights? She doubts it.

"I don't know them. A couple were walking along the beach with their dog. I asked them if they wouldn't mind. Being a single parent you don't get as many photos _with_ your child as you do _of_ them," he said, his tone grim. She had broken him out of his Nikki Heat concentration, but not before a subplot formed in his mind and was banked for later use.

"It really is a great photo Castle," she turned her back to him once again, avoided his intense gaze and placed the frame carefully back in place.

He sensed her withdrawal and took the minute to jot down his plot point in a notebook before the full details escaped him.

She wondered why she had never really been in here before. She had never taken much time when in his apartment to examine his possessions, especially his bookshelves. He was an author and she was a detective, his bookshelves were where he displayed himself she should have realised that sooner. The works he had collected over the years range from classics to current best sellers to obscure textbooks he had no doubt collected during his research, there was very little limit to his library. She realised this was as much about who he was as her own bookshelf, her collection of crime fiction focused her need to find justice when it hadn't existed in her world. His collection was as much about him exploring the world as hers provided her with an escape.

"You okay?" His tone was curious, not demanding.

She stiffened. He had moved to stand beside her while she was lost in her thoughts. "Yeah Castle, I'm fine," she dismissed but she refused to meet his gaze. Instead she looked at the picture in the frame at the end of the shelf, opposite the one with his daughter. It caught her off guard, she remembered the picture but didn't expect to find it here, on display in his space.

It was darker than the other photo, harder to see at a glance. Perhaps that was why she hadn't noticed. The night he had brought the Old Haunt, Lanie had arrived later than the others and had insisted on a group photo before she sat down. All had begrudgingly obliged then gone back to their conversations. That is when Lanie had taken _this_ photo, of the two of them, engaged in their own conversation. Lanie had text it to her the next day with a simple "you needed to see this," as if it had explained everything. Apparently she had also sent it to Castle…

"Kate…" His tone was laced with concern but it was also sharp to snap her out of her own thoughts.

"She sent it to you too?" It came out a little more like an accusation than she intended, but her point was clear. This was not something Lanie should have sent Castle, especially if she had implied anything when she sent it.

"Uh, yeah." He sounded stupid, he knew but he has no explanation for it. Lanie had sent it to him, along with the group photo. He had them both printed and framed – the group photo is at the Old Haunt but this one had been different. It had been too personal to put on display in a bar for strangers to gawk at. "Didn't you get it?" his confusion evident.

"Yeah, I-" she turned to look at him, lost for words. She opened her mouth, closed it. She swallowed and took a breath, centred herself. Then she tucked her hair behind her ear. Her tell but he knows that. "Lanie sent it to me the next morning." That's all she offered at that moment, if she said anything else it would bring up things they did not discuss. She hoped her tone conveyed that there was more to it than just a picture and a blank message.

He understood there was something she was not telling him, but it didn't matter. She had put a wall up, mentally blocking whatever she was thinking. If she was going to tell him he can't pressure her. He had to wait it out, but he has all the time in the world to wait. "Want some ice-cream?" He changed the mood instantly, he could see the relief across her face.

"Only if you have sprinkles," she warned. Just like that it's over, they snap back into their banter and she is so grateful.


	3. Chapter 3

Kate Beckett jumped. Her phone's crisp chirp broke her focus, startled her back to reality. She rolled over on the couch, reaching for it, almost falling to the floor.

"Beckett," her voice was clipped and business-like. She had received far too few work calls this week. They'd had no new bodies and no leads on cold cases, despite the countless hours they had spent revising statements and reports for some missed detail that would lead to progress. Of course, they had all grown frustrated by the end of the week.

Esposito and Ryan (although they would never admit it to her face) had been worried, she could tell. At the beginning of the week she had been ruthlessly revising cases where leads had fallen short, just short. But by the end of the week she was relentless with cases where there had been no evidence, no witness statements, not even an identity for the victim. She was burying herself in them, desperate. Why she was so desperate escaped her. They needed a new case, she knew. Castle had been observing the spiral, allowing it at first, but then he had pushed her to ease back only to find himself banished from the precinct, she'd call when a body dropped. That had been Wednesday afternoon, by Friday lunch she had exhausted herself and was on her couch reading by three, looking for an escape.

"Guess what?" the familiar smooth voice teased.

His voice made her sit up, her book, _his_ book, slid off her lap, her place lost. "What Castle?" she forced herself to sound slightly irritated, but really she was a tad shocked and a little embarrassed. She was curious _why_ he was calling her on a Friday night, surely he had some party to attend.

"Esposito called, told me that you had left early and might want some company…" he trailed off, suggestively. A soft chuckle escaped her before she could stop it, why she wasn't sure. "Well… Espo didn't say you might need company," he rushed to repair the damage, she isn't sure which, "he just said not to expect a call about a drop and told me… how the rest of the week was." He changed what he was saying half-way through, she could tell.

She chuckled. He's not someone who struggled with words, apparently with her he did. "Uh Castle?" she questioned.

"Yeah?" his response was immediate, too quick for normal conversation. Clearly he was fumbling for words more than she had thought.

"Why'd you call Castle?" she maintained her mildly annoyed demeanour, but she's smiling, intrigued.

"I just… um…" He was silent a moment, she heard him move through the phone, soft rustling of fabric. He has always fidgeted when he's thinking, considering the right words. She had seen him on the phone with Alexis enough to observe this trait. She heard a thump,

"Castle what was that?" she questioned. She heard it again, a dull thump. Then her door rattled on its hinges, half a knock, "Castle, there's someone at the door. Make it quick, I've got to go." She hoped she wasn't too dismissive, but he had been stalling too much.

She rose from the couch, half rolling off, landed on her feet with a practiced ease. She headed toward the door and unconsciously put her free hand through her hair, attempting to remove evidence of the hours she'd spent on her couch.

"I, uh..." he panicked. "Don't be angry," the words were spoken with such a speed that she doesn't fully register.

At the same time, she grabbed the doorhandle, didn't turn it listening. It was silent. Maybe it was just a neighbour, passing by. Although the cop in her is on edge, only a few months ago someone had shot her so she checks the peephole. Castle.

She rolled her eyes and sighs heavily, pulling the door open abruptly. "Really Castle…" She crossed her arms, shifted her weight and stared him down. She shouldn't have be surprised, but she was caught off-guard.

He gulped, forced himself not to squirm. "Detective Beckett I was just passing through and thought-"

"Seriously Castle?" She didn't flinch, guarding her doorway from this sudden intrusion.

"Yeah, okay busted," he put his hands up in surrender before he continued, "I was checking up on you."

"You could have just called…" She retorted.

"I did call," he said stupidly earning himself another glare so he hedged onward."I just thought that after…" he winced, the perfect description escaping him, "the week you've had that you could do with some company. We can cook something-" his voice spun a story and painted a picture, but when she raised a brow he changed direction, "we can order in or go out somewhere nice." He waggled his eyebrows, trying to charm her.

It worked. She stopped glaring and gave a shy smile, but didn't move her body, which was blocking the entrance to her apartment.

He cleared his throat, rubbed his hands together then shrugged a little. Prompting her, it was her turn to make a move.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes but stepped back – opening the door wide and gestured with her arm in an exaggerated fashion for him to step inside.

"Thank you," he said softly as he stepped across the threshold with a dramatic flare. He looked around, checking to see how much had changed since his last visit. A rare opportunity to check on her. Everything is in order, like always. Although he did notice how the harsh late-afternoon glare was softened in her apartment by her curtains, it was metaphoric.

When she turned to face him after shutting the door again, she found his back to her. She passed him, moving toward the kitchen. If they were going to order they would have to make it soon, before it gets busy.

His breath caught in his throat as she passed him. The gentle sway of her body was hypnotic. The roll of her shoulders and the way her hips kicked slightly with each step was startlingly obvious despite her baggy sweater and jeans. He could watch her all day, he gawked involuntarily. He cannot help it, but she would kill him if she caught him. He _cared _and slowly he was showing just how much. He was tearing down her walls, brick by brick.

He followed her like a puppy, exploring as he goes but remained hesitant and tentative in her space. He was opening cupboards, examining her fridge. If she had noticed she was ignoring him, too preoccupied in her search for take-out menus to dismiss his eagerness.

He cleared his throat to get her attention. She was too preoccupied with the draw which apparently had swallowed the take-out menus. "Kate?" he softly tried again.

"Yeah Castle," she ignored his use of her first name, not looking up.

"Are you not going to look?" he was teasing.

She stopped, finally looking at him but not standing to do so. "How did… Where did you find all of that?" she was amazed. How had he found all of that food in her kitchen? Packet of pasta, a jar sauce, a block of cheese shewas sure will be mouldy (she hadn't eaten cheese from a block for too long), a chunk of mince and a few vegies. Not the most nutritious assortment, but it _is_ more than she realised was in her kitchen.

"We can cook or we can order. Your choice," he says smugly, his arms causally folded across his chest as he leans against the counter.

She stared at the ingredients he had laid out, then back to the draw she had dishevelled in her search. "Pasta it is," she rolled her eyes and straightened the contents of the draw. Making a mental note to find the safe place she had moved those menus, she'll need them soon enough.

He was clattering through her draws and cupboards before she could even stand-up to take charge. But he had found everything he needed so she tugged the saucepan from his hands and fills it with water.

Wordlessly they prepare the food. He cut up onion while she thawed the mince. She kept noticing how they are so attuned they found their rhythm instantly, how they didn't bump into one another despite both trying to work within her small kitchen.

"Where did you find all this?" she asked, breaking the silence now that they were waiting for the meat to cook and the pasta to soften.

He didn't take his eyes from the pan as he shuffled the mince across the heat. "I um… brought a couple of things with me," his confession was quick, rushed.

Her eyes widened and she lashed out her hand, slapped him on the arm as she scolded, "Castle! Are you serious?" He shocked her by turning up, he had damn near floored her with this revelation.

He rubbed his arm pain and threw her a wounded look while he pouts.

"Oh don't be a baby." She rolls her eyes as she criticises him, then drops her gaze to the pan. "Why did you bring stuff with you?" her question was so soft he barely heard it, it was so unlike her to be unsure of herself.

He dropped the act immediately and became serious. "I wanted to… do something nice for you. Something meaningful." He held his breath, prayed he hadn't crossed the line. He did know he was pushing it, but he also knew if they didn't push it now they never would.

She peaked up at him from beneath the hair which had fallen into her face, covered her eyes. "Thanks Castle," her voice so soft it was barely a whisper.

They remained silent until the pasta was soft, the meat was brown, the sauce stirred through. Both quite pleased with their simple dinner. "Did you want something to drink?" her voice broke their silence as he dished heaped portions onto plates she laid on the counter.

"Yeah," he responded, only met her gaze for the slightest moment. When she didn't move beside him, he figures she is waiting on a specific response. "Whatever you're having is fine."

Once again she didn't respond, however that time she grabbed something from the fridge and set glasses on the counter somewhere behind him. When he heard her close the fridge again he picked up both plates and headed toward the kitchen table. He caught sight of her in his periphery, she was headed the other way, toward her couch. He didn't question it, just followed her silently.

She set the glasses on the coffee table and took the plate from him as he arrived, then sat, pulling her knees up toward herself. She settled the plate against her chest with a practised ease used her thighs to hold it still and close. His actions were not as fluid but he did press the edge of the plate against his chest effectively enough that he could watch her as he eats.

When that full feeling had hit her stomach she hadn't eaten half of what Castle piled onto her plate, but she had eaten more than she would have if she were eating alone. After she set her plate on the table and reached for her glass she curled into her couch a little, nestled against the corner turning her body a little to face him, wedged her feet between the couch cushion silently cursed herself for not putting on socks. It was winter in New York, despite the warmth of her apartment she should have known better.

She asked about Alexis, always a safe conversation starter with Castle. They talked animatedly for a while, until both had eaten all they could. Castle having emphasised how full he was before placing his feet onto her coffee table (earning himself a swift kick and threat of serious damage) and both their glasses are empty on the table. "Why do you always insist on feeding me? You bring food here, you order lunch to the precinct, you bring me coffee every time you walk through the door," she rambled once she got started.

He chuckled but doing nothing more than shrug at her in response.

His response frustrated her, so she hedged onwards. "Castle I managed eat enough before you came along to cajole me into eating more." She shifted her head on her elbow, the arm had stiffened from being propped on the back of the couch, her face pressed against the crook.

"Fine. Next time you call me for a body drop at five in the morning I will turn up with my own coffee and nothing for you. I won't suggest we stop for lunch on the way back from interviewing a witness. I won't-"

She cut him off. "Show up on my doorstep with ingredients stuffed in your pockets so you can make me dinner." She raised an eyebrow in challenge, then her face softened and she looked away again, needing a second as she realises something. The last person who showed up on her doorstep to cook her dinner had been Josh. The realisation hits her, Josh had shown up for some milestone of their relationship, she doesn't even remember specifically. But she does remember his intentions with that meal, to prove himself to her, to prove that he was committed to looking after her. It should overwhelm her that Castle would do something so… intimate, but she felt cautious more than anything, she cannot lose her partner, like she had lost everyone else. "Okay maybe I need someone to look out for me, on occasion," her words were a rush, so soft she hoped he didn't catch half of them. She would not be repeating it under any circumstance.

She could feel his gaze on her, intense and studying. It took her a few minutes to look up and meet his gaze. Her hair covering her face as she looks up through it, glimpsing his reaction, giving herself another split second to hide.

What her eyes see couldn't be worse. He is grinning ear to ear, like a fool. He heard her confession, obviously every word, or at least enough. _Damn it_, she had hoped he wouldn't.

"Whenever you need me, I'll be there… coffee in hand." His pause made his double meaning clear, that he won't leave but letting her discuss food instead of how they feel.

There was a wave of shock which hit her, then a moment of contentment before the wall went up again. He noticed the corners of her mouth turned up in the smallest of grins before she opened her mouth and gave him a smartarse comment he had see coming from a mile away. "Don't forget to bring Lanie her bearclaw. Maybe something special for Esposito and Ryan every so often, they always shoot daggers at you when you neglect them." There was honesty in her voice, but she was leaning toward him slightly as if it was a joke. Making a point of mentioning he shouldn't focus all his energy on her, but saying she acknowledged it.

"I'll buy them a cupcake," he quipped. Then the smile dropped from her face as suddenly as it had appeared. He realised why. Their bodies were much closer than before. She hadn't moved and he hadn't either, but their bodies were closer, drawn together. He was leaning against the couch in a way similar to her – arm bent over the back of it, his body angled toward her but his angle awkward due to his legs stretched out to the leg of the coffee table in front of her. His breath hitched. It was up to her, if she pulled back, even a little he would move way – make an excuse and leave if he had to, he would not push this and lose her.

She regarded him a minute. Her eyes are soft but keenly analysed the lines of his face, the contour of his neck, the width of his shoulders. She didn't move backwards, she remained perfectly still like she was afraid that movement would give him the wrong idea about the entire situation. He gave her a small smile, hoping it didn't look smug, before he hauled himself away "what's on?" he asked as he grabbed the remote from the table in front of him.

When he returned to the couch he was careful to place himself close, but not too close. There was a delicate balance here, a push-and-pull. He has planning the grand finale. But first he had to nudge her so that she was comfortable standing on the edge with him, so that when they finally take that final leap it would work. He was flicking through the channels while he stared blankly at the screen, when she announced "stop!" with enthusiasm he obliged. He didn't bother to look at what it was, just looked back to find her watching it, interested. His plan, when exactly he would put it into motion he doesn't know. But he knew with certainty she would be ready sooner rather than later. He had in the past put it off, the timing had never been right, the circumstances never perfect. It has to be perfect. But lately, she had been letting him in (tonight in a literal sense). He has set the date, organised it. It churns his gut considering it, he is going to show her how important she is. He just hopes she allows him to.


	4. Chapter 4

When Beckett had called about the body drop, offered to swing by and pick him up he thought nothing of it. When they arrived at the scene, the alley where the stabbing victim had been left splayed against a few trash bags, he knew it would strike a chord with her, too much like her mother. Of course she wouldn't say anything, wouldn't let it show on her face, she probably wouldn't even think about her mother once she crossed the crime scene tape. But he knows. Knows that later, when she is alone, probably after they close this, and she heads back to her silent apartment, the similarities will hit her, smack in the face. Right now there is a glint in her eye, a determination he recognises, she wants this guy caught.

When they break it he can't stop smiling at her. The glow she has, the buzz she is emitting makes him so glad he picked up that discrepancy, leading them straight to the break. Whenever their eyes meet she joins him in his smile, full-mouthed and radiant, unbridled joy. He isn't sure why she is being so open about it, but he revels in it. Making sure to catch her every chance he gets.

The detectives have all settled into their desks to finish the paperwork and he grabs them all a cup of coffee before he takes his seat beside her desk. Esposito gives a distracted nod, Ryan says "thanks" without tearing his eyes from the screen but Beckett smiles at him in thanks, turning her whole body to face him, meeting his gaze and lingering a second as he takes his seat before she continues to smile down at the paper before her.

He realises, while watching her, that this is the perfect opportunity to show her. She has had a day filled with emotion, her own just below the surface he knows (dangerous territory for anyone other than himself). But he knows that the mood she is in right now, is the perfect time to tell her.

"Can you come over when your done? I've uh, got something to show you…" he breaks the silence, speaking only to her, his voice soft to keep it from the boys, like they are in class, whispering in the back row.

She regards him, studying him silently, her brow furrows as she thinks. "Okay, give me…" she studies the papers in front of her, "an hour and I'll head over," she quips, resigned. He isn't giving anything away as he studies her.

"I'll order Chinese," he offers, giving her another smile. He waits for hers in return then, grabs his coat and heads for the door. He just hopes this is the right time, its too late to back out now he has mentioned it to her. she won't drop it, even if he does, because it will eat her alive as she worries, over thinking it of course.

When he answers the door to her, he is not himself, he seems distracted and instantly she is suspicious. Whatever he has to show her is serious, her chest tightens. Damn it, she doesn't need this drama today. He of all people should realise that. She follows him to the kitchen. Both of them are completely silent. Castle regretting bringing this up, but it's too late now that she's here. Beckett analysing every aspect of his behaviour, searching for a clue, but he isn't giving anything away. He has written down Alexis' dinner order alongside his own. "Pick whatever you like," he gesture to the menu, "and I'll order."

He hadn't wanted to pick for her, despite her consistently ordering the same thing. But what he is about to show her is going to rattle her; he will be the one in control, she doesn't like that. Letting her choose food is a minor type of control that she may need to cling to later.

When she makes her selection he is already on the phone ordering. She points with her finger and he nods. He relays her choice. "Thank you," he chimes into the phone before hanging up. "It'll be here in half an hour," he informs her, once again nervous.

She nods and gives him half a smile. He is basically squirming every time she looks at him. Whatever this is he needs to get on with it, he is driving her insane. "Want to tell me why I'm here?" she suggests with a shrug, trying to keep the hitch out of her throat. The last time he told her he had something serious to tell her and got this nervous it had been that her mother's murder was not a random mugging. That causes a deep pit to form in her stomach.

He swallows, awkwardly scratches the back of his neck, stalling.

"Castle…" she urges, "you are making me nervous," her voice conveys it. She could hear it crack herself.

"Sorry," he says too quickly. "I just... I should have shown this to you a long time ago." He is walking backwards without looking behind him, it is making her nervous. "But.. once you were… shot it became harder."

She can't stop her eyes widening a little when he brings up her being shot, so she clamps them shut for a second, in an attempt to steel herself against whatever this is about.

He stops at the doorway. "Aren't you coming?" his voice is soft, but he flicks an eyebrow and gives her a tentative smile easing her tension a little. His gut is twisted and clenched, he is nervous. But he has to show her this.

She follows, so they can both be put out of their misery. His plan wasn't to show her straight away, but he had been too anxious and she'd picked up on it. Of course she had, she knows him too well to be fooled.

When he stops in front of his storyboard her gut sinks. This cannot be a good thing.

He touches her shoulder, silently urging her to come closer. "Don't be mad," he murmurs as he hands her the small remote, giving her the control.

She stares at the remote and hits the power button, but doesn't look up at the screen as it springs to life. When it fills the room with a soft, blue light she chews her lip. She knows it is waiting for her to make a move, she knows he is waiting for her to press a button.

"The green one," he mutters to her, forgetting she has never used it before and even if she had she doesn't know the shortcut he assigned to this.

She presses it and takes a deep breath. She exhales loudly. He is watching her, she can feel his intense gaze.

"It's loaded," he murmurs, his breath hitching. The double meaning of his words making him wish he hadn't spoken them, although maybe she didn't take it that way. He can only hope, it is too late now.

She meets his gaze through her hair, studying his face for his reaction. He is forcing himself to keep a straight face, but she can see past it. She can see that he is scared of her reaction, but she can see a faint gleam of excitement behind his intense gaze. Now she is confused, the only way to clear that up is to look at the board. She swallows and turns to face it.

It doesn't make any sense.

It is a murder board.

But it isn't for a crime.

It looks like a wedding plan. She blinks, forcing her eyes to focus on the details arranged before her.

There are pictures of napkins, flowers and tablecloths, pictures of food, invitations and ballrooms.

"What is this?" she is confused. Why is he planning a wedding? Why is he showing her that he is planning a wedding? There are several options for each category, each listed like a suspect with reasons for and against.

"It's a plan. If you don't like it I can change anything you like. If there is anything I've forgotten just let me know," he says in a rush.

"A plan?" she asks, completely confused and still caught on the first words.

"Yeah, your mother's benefit," he says as if this is the most obvious thing on the planet.

She swallows, the relief practically oozing out of her. She catches her lip between her teeth, working it back and forth. At least its not a wedding, she tells herself, then immediately questions why on earth Richard Castle would be planning a wedding. But he is planning her mother's benefit. He has laid out the details on the board, everything they ever discussed, every possibility is examined and explored. It is… meticulous, thoughtful but so intense. She had forgotten that he had begun to plan this with her. He hadn't brought it up for months, she just figured he was too busy at this stage. That maybe he had postponed his plan for until after they caught the man responsible.

He gives her a minute. She needs a minute, he can tell.

"Castle…" she starts and fails, her breath hitching. She meets his gaze, reluctantly. "Thank you." She doesn't know what else to say. There is nothing else she can say. He has thought of her in a way that is so generous and selfless that she is overwhelmed by it. She had told herself that she shouldn't bring it up with him, she shouldn't be the one to broach the topic. It wasn't her money being spent to raise the money, so she had no right to ask.

"You're welcome," his relief evident in his voice when he speaks. He isn't sure what he expected her reaction to be, but her amazement is shocking him. He had expected her to yell, storm out, maybe even get upset. But amazement, he is shocked. Not that he isn't extremely grateful with how she is taking this, he truly is, but it is just not what he expected.

"Why?" she asks simply, stepping forward to look at the colour themes, the food choices and the different locations.

"I thought that…" he exhales, "I thought that once you… recovered, we would start planning it again. I know we talked about it a few times… before, but we never really locked anything in, just vague ideas. So I put up what we had, then… I thought of a few more venues that had everything you said you wanted. I found out some possible dates." He shrugs, as if to say no big deal.

She is a silhouette against the board, her arms crossed against her chest, her hips set as she studies it. The way she does at work, when she is absorbing every detail trying to find the discrepancies. Only now does he notice she has changed since he saw her at the precinct, probably the spare clothes she keeps in her locker in the gym. At least she is comfortable now.

She nods and stays completely silent, unsure how to respond. Finally when she gives up trying to find the right words she says the recurring thought which won't leave her, maybe if it is spoken aloud it will. "This is too much," she mumbles. It doesn't leave her like she'd hoped. "Castle, you shouldn't have-" she tries again.

"I wanted to," he defends.

She spins on her heel, regarding him with the same intense studying gaze he knows she has just been scrutinising the board with. He can see the slow rise and fall of her chest, raged and uneven. She is forcing herself to stay calm, to stay in control, to not let the panic overwhelm her, or maybe she is bottling her rage and the cork will pop any second.

She opens her mouth then closes it. She swallows.

"I thought you should be involved. I didn't actually make any decisions, just explored the possibilities more in depth," he explains himself, "I just thought you might need some… closure on it." He cringes at his own words, they aren't right, they aren't what he had planned. But the plan went out the window when he answered the door to her, he knows that.

She eyes him warily now. He is venturing into dangerous territory and he knows it. But he can't stand the lack of discussion any longer. She has bottled up and closed off. He knows that's her process, but he figures this is a good thing. Get it out in the open, show these people her mother is more than just a problem they had to solve. The benefit for the scholarship won't harm anyone, won't reopen the case and will give her a chance to honour her mother's life by doing more than risking her own, again.

She closes her eyes, and spins back to the board. Choosing to ignore his prod at her wounds, he lets her have the silence. He knows in time she will speak, when she is ready. There is no rush. They have as much time as she needs.

The doorbell rings, the food is here. She doesn't even flinch, apparently either too deep in thought to have noticed, that or she is ignoring it to regain some control over the situation. Either way he leaves the room, an opportune moment to leave her to her thoughts.

He sets the plastic bag which contains their boxes on his desk. Before grabbing the containers setting them on the table and unwrapping the chopsticks he puts the rubbish in the bin beneath his desk.

"When is this one free?" she asks, breaking her silence long after he hands her the container. She didn't thank him for it, she didn't need to. Her only expression of awareness was her brief eye contact, and that meant more than a simple thank you ever would. It meant she was overwhelmed, but not impossibly so.

He smiles at her, mouth closed chewing on his chicken. He swallows. "Touch the picture, the dates will… appear," he trails off as she does it.

She studies it as she eats. Considering everything that is written there, all the details he has laid out before her.

"Can you ring tomorrow? See which ones are still free," she turns her head, shyly back to look at him. She would call herself, but she knows the name Richard Castle will hold more weight than her own, it's the way these things work.

"Uh… These are current, I rang them all just before you got here," he says between bites, then quickly busies himself with his chicken, letting her have another moment to process.

She freezes, food hovering precariously on her chopsticks, half-way to her mouth. She drops it back into the box. "Can we organise it for… three weeks time?" she hesitates mid-question, as if she is afraid he will say no, as if he could ever refuse her anything.

"I could organise it for tomorrow if that's what you wanted," his tone is teasing, but his eyes are sincere.

"Three weeks is fine," she dismisses his seriousness.

"I'll be back," he smirks as he speaks, then disappears out the door before she can form words.

Just as she resettles into her dinner, her eyes studying the colours, he barges back into the room and happily announces, "All booked, we meet with them in three days to hash out some more of the details and view the room."

"You booked it without seeing the room?" she questions.

"I placed a reservation deposit. If you change your mind I get a full refund, don't stress." He puts his hands up to further convey his surrender. His dinner has disappeared, she notices.

She nods at him. "Thanks," she murmurs as she gathers another clump of food.

"Anytime," he smiles.

**I apologise for the delay, but I have another chapter almost ready to go to make up for it!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Edit: Continuity error, thanks anon : )**

She touches his shoulder as she comes up behind him, warning him of her presence. He turns to greet her, a smile wide across his face. He catches her wrist as she withdraws her hand back to her side. "Hey," he squeezes her wrist then slips his fingers across the back of her hand. He watches her as she stares at her hand, now held prisoner in his own, their fingers laced together. "Did you have a good night?" he questions softly, moving in close so she can hear him over the music and the people buzzing around won't hear them.

She nods and a soft smile plays across her lips, and he joins her in it. He relishes the look in her eyes, the contentment oozes from her body, infectious. "I did actually. I thought it would be… harder," she meets his gaze only after she hesitates. It was hard, it had been a challenge to be open with these strangers about her mother, to give a speech about her mother's dedication to her job and to see her father do the same. But Castle had been there every step of the way, playing host, rescuing her when people asked stupid questions or pried a little too deep, he had swooped in and apologetically he had to speak with her for a moment. Half the time he just gave her a knowing smile and moved to schmooze the next person in the room. He didn't hover of course, she would have thumped him, but he had never been more than a few metres away.

He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm glad it wasn't too bad." He holds her gaze a moment longer than necessary, marvelling at how amazing she looks, ignoring her stunning dress completely absorbed in her smile.

"Oh Richard, there you are," his mother chirps, "we're headed home. Are you coming with us my dear?" The older woman smiles at Beckett, flicking her gaze at their still joined hands.

Beckett's eyes shoot to their hands as she tries to withdraw, but he just tightens his grip, careful not to hurt her. "No Martha, I am about to head home myself," she explains lamely.

"I'll be home in an hour or so," he puts his hand on his mother's shoulder and kisses her cheek, silently urging her to disappear. "I'll stay until everyone leaves."

As she walks back through the thinning crowd Martha flicks a knowing gaze over her shoulder at the pair.

"Want me to call for the car?" he asks Beckett softly. He had arranged for her and her father to be driven by his car service, insisted that it was no trouble and that it was after all a black-tie event. She had fought him for a few days, then relented on the condition she catch a taxi back to her apartment.

"I told you, I'm getting a taxi," she huffs, and finally escapes his grip

He steps forward, crowding her personal space, trying to infuriate her. "I was going to suggest we grab a coffee, to-go of course, on the way back. We need to discuss how the money we raised will be spent," he says smugly.

"We can talk about it in the morning, Castle," she challenges, quipping a brow for emphasis

"I want to talk about it now, without prying ears," he flicks his gaze to the woman who is standing just behind them and raises his eyebrows slightly at her. The stranger gets the message and disappears into the crowd. He turns his attention back to her, hopes it is written all over his face, he is concerned, just wants to check this has been a good thing, prove to her what they have the power to do now.

She relents under his gaze, he sees it, the drop of her shoulders and the roll of her eyes. "I'll go say goodbye to my dad," she steps away, but he follows. He hasn't had a chance to speak to Jim Beckett all evening, not even long enough to thank him for giving this event his full blessing and his support. Maybe he needed this as much as Kate did.

She eyes him suspiciously as he falls into step beside her.

"I just want to thank him, then I'll grab our coats," he explains.

She doesn't question him further, accepting that Castle wants to shake her father's hand, no matter what she says.

When they find her dad, she squeezes his elbow. He is speaking to someone she doesn't recognise, but when he sees who it is he excuses himself from the man before him and turns to his daughter. "Katie," he hugs her, tighter than he has for years, relieved. She is glad he had come. Originally he had insisted his presence wasn't necessary. She knew he was afraid it would be too hard, just like she had been. So she had promised him they would do it together, that if it didn't help, if it made it harder then they would leave, no questions asked. "Rick," he smiles, extending his hand. "Thank you, tonight has been wonderful. Johanna would be so humbled by this," he sounds awestruck as he gazes around the room then meets his daughter's eyes.

Castle just watches, glad he could do this for her, for them. Something so simple as doing justice on Johanna Beckett's behalf, in her name, is something which will benefit them all long term. "It is my pleasure," he says honestly as he places his other hand on top of the older man's and holds his gaze. Then flicks his eyes to Kate, giving her a soft smile before he explains he has to grab their coats and call the car service, promising to meet her by the door.

When he sees her weaving through the crowd, pausing only to speak to those bidding her farewell he opens her coat, holding it out to her, his own still slung over his arm. She slips into it with a hint of assistance and stays silent about his constant need to coddle her. Tonight she is appreciative, she needs the support. She has always had his support, she knows that, but his assistance with the preparations for tonight have blown her away. She did not think a man could be so giving and not expect anything in return. But he has, he still is. He understands exactly what to do and what to say. He now has to drive her home and check she is alright. Of course, she knows what he is doing, normally she would refuse, but tonight she doesn't see the harm. He has been so generous, the least she can do is brew the man a cup of coffee and speak about the night, even if it is just the logistics because he doesn't need her to verbalise her feelings, he already knows.

"Where to Mr Castle?" the driver asks after Castle ushers her into the car, a hand on her back, his body shielding her from the awaiting media.

He gives her address and then hesitates adding. "We might grab a coffee on the way, if that's okay," he looks at her for confirmation.

She shakes her head and bites her lip, averting her eyes from his. "Just take me home," she whispers.

His breath hitches in his throat, he hopes it wasn't audible. He reaches out to touch her hand while it rests on the seat, checking on her.

"I have coffee, Castle," she insists at his touch, letting him link the tips of their fingers together, refusing to meet his eyes.

The car lurches out into the late night traffic and he doesn't speak again, just settles back into the seat, watching her.

When the car pulls up outside her building they both thank the driver and Castle tugs her across the car, their fingers still linked. She drops his hand, digging through her bag for her keys as they head inside, to the elevator and up to her apartment.

Neither of them speaks, their only communication is the small touch he uses on the small of her back to usher her from the elevator to her apartment, as if she doesn't know where to go. Once inside, she heads straight to the coffee machine, turning it on, setting it to brew. "I'll be back in a minute, take a seat," she speaks softly to him, then flicks her hand around her apartment, urging him to make himself at home – although she doubts he requires the prompt.

When she returns, her hair let out, her make-up removed, the curves of her body shielded by an oversized jumper, her feet slipped into thick socks two sizes too big and yoga pants covering her long legs. She doesn't enter the kitchen, instead finds him hunched over her counter making their coffees, his back to her unaware of her presence.

"Comfortable?" he asks without looking up. Apparently more tuned in than she expected, although she isn't surprised.

"Very," she crosses her arms tighter over her chest, revelling in the comfort of the jumper, glad those pins are no longer digging into her scalp. Glad he is here.

"I got a message from the co-ordinator of the auction," he offers as he drops sugar into the cups, "he said we raised enough to support the program for eight years."

She gasps. "Really?" she is shocked. "It can fund five students for that long? Are you sure?"

He picks up the mugs, turning to walk toward her to hand off her coffee. "Positive, maybe even longer," he says to her softly as he hands her the cup, then proceeds to walk past her, heading for the couch.

Halfway through her cup she realises she hasn't said another word to him. Regretfully she throws him a glance and finds him deep in thought, studying the pattern on the couch between them, or maybe he is staring at the pattern on her socks, she isn't sure. "Castle," her voice snaps him out of it immediately, "thank you so much." She takes a deep breath, but when he opens his mouth to speak she gets in first. "Thank you for… everything," she whispers that last word, overwhelmed. Because this isn't just about tonight, this is about everything about her mother's murder. This is thanking him for everything he has done for her, for all his help to get this far in the case, as hard as it was it was necessary. While they haven't closed that final chapter, she is beginning to think they won't, at least not for a long while yet – she needs to put herself together first. Tonight was a giant leap in the right direction, she knows that. She hopes he understands that. "My dad said to thank you again, on his behalf," she chuckles, it is the truth and it conveys to him (hopefully) the full extent of this.

"Kate…" he murmurs, setting his mug on the table and sliding along the couch to her side, all in one quick motion. She doesn't even have time to recoil her feet so he doesn't sit on them. Apparently he had thought of that too and lifted her ankles up, resting them against his thigh. She wonders if he had been considering doing that the whole time he had been staring into the space between them. He rests a hand on her knee, absently tickling with his thumb.

She'd let out a startled squeak when he moved, grabbed her legs and settled against her. But she had not protested at all, just waited for him to continue. For once she is openly content with his proximity and patient, allowing him to find the right words. They had to be the right words.

"You do not have to thank me. I do not want you to feel like you have to. Consider it a gift, one you never have to repay." She narrows her eyes at him, analysing his words. "Just… continue to be you, stay determined and strong, that is payment enough. You know I have written books on how strong and determined you are, but I always feel like I don't quite show it enough. You are so much stronger than you even know Kate. I am proud of you," he whispers the last phrase, squeezing on her knee a little, then he lets out a ragged breath. He knows this isn't their style, they don't talk about things, but he thinks that tonight she needs to hear it. That he knows she is capable and that he is proud of everything he has seen her achieve, even if it has only been the tiniest portion of her life.

She chews her lip again, choosing to stare at his hand on her than to stare at his intense gaze as he speaks. "Castle, I-"

He cuts her off. "You don't need to say anything. Just remember it, okay?"

She nods, meeting his eyes again. "Thank you," she mumbles and puts her feet to the floor, reaching across to put her own mug on the table in front of her. She moves much slower than he did, giving herself a chance to process this, realise what she is doing.

His hand slides to her back when she leans forward, as if he will catch her if she leans too far over and falls off the couch. He concentrates on the curve of her back her elbows pressed to her knees, her head in her hands. His chest constricts, he has said too much, overwhelmed her. _Damn it._

But then she sighs and relief floods through him. She isn't sobbing. When Katherine Beckett is upset (on the few occasions he has witnessed it), she is either deathly silent with tears slipping down her cheeks or the sobs catch in her throat carrying through the room, through walls. But that sigh, she sounded as though she was… resigning herself to something.

She doesn't raise her face, but she slides back into the couch, into the arm curled around her and nestles against his side. Bringing her feet up, her knees huddled against her chest, crossing her arms over them, her face buried in the crook of the elbow closest to him.

What he doesn't realise is that she is studying him from beneath her hair. She saw him lean back as she leaned in, careful to give her space, but she wishes he would come closer. She lifts the weight of her head off her hand and shifts some of the hair from in front of her face. As soon as he sees her movement he has shifted closer. The hand on her back tangled in the curls between her shoulder blades. She gives him half a smile and sighs again.

The relief which washes over him at that smile is written across his face. He tugs her closer so he can wrap his arms around her, if the relief has triggered this she's glad. He knocks her off balance, intentionally of course. Her legs slap onto his and he tugs her shoulders against his side, her face brought to his shoulder.

She doesn't make a noise, just blinks at the sudden movement, her nose pressed against his shoulder so she is hidden from view again.

They each stay perfectly still, testing the waters, each desperately trying to gauge the reaction of the other whilst remaining completely silent.

When she presses her cheek against his shoulder, turning to look in front of her, she lets her arm slip off her thigh and rest against his waist. It is her turn to make lazy circles with her fingers. But when her fingers glide over his dress shirt, just near his ribs he twitches. A completely involuntary reaction, apparently he is ticklish. She gasps as he pulls her close, crushing her against his chest with both arms.

"Don't," he grits out between clenched teeth, his breath hot against her scalp. She sinks into his hold, in a moment she'll wriggle so he can't hold her so close, so he has to enjoy this moment, relish it. He leaves his nose against the top of her head, his nose assaulted by the stench of hairspray, but it is the hint of her shampoo that makes him unable to pull away.

His body relaxes beneath her but his grip doesn't soften, their bodies moulding together.

"You're ticklish? Really Castle?" she teases, her voice barely a whisper, but in the dark silence of her apartment it is crystal clear.

He laughs against her. The chuckle rumblingly through his chest, shifting her whole body, making her grip his shirt in her hand to keep herself against his chest. "You're not?" he challenges, knowing everybody has at least one spot that makes them shiver. He just happens to have multiple spots, but he won't be telling her that anytime soon.

When he slides his hand to her ribs, mimicking her movements against his ribs she lifts her head to quip a brow at him, creating too much space between them.

"Not at all, Castle," she deadpans.

He narrows his eyes, trying to tell if she is lying. He continues his attempts. When he skirts his fingertips across her belly she doesn't even flinch. When his fingers trail down her thigh she doesn't even squirm. "Okay I give up, for now. I will catch you when you least expect it, everybody has a spot."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't vocalise her dismissal at his insistence. She knows he can tell so she drops her head back against his shoulder, shifting her feet so they don't fall asleep, curling into him again.

"What're you thinking right now?" he mutters into her hair after they are silent for a long time. His fingers absently playing with her curls again, lulling him into content thoughtlessness.

She groans softly, buries her face into his neck.

"Kate, you awake?" he breaths against her hair.

"No," she mumbles defiantly, curling her legs into his rib. He slips his phone out of his pocket, thankfully not the one wedged between their bodies. He silences it, just in case, unlocks the screen then wraps his arm around her legs, holding her whole body close to him.

_Hey pumpkin, I'll be home later than I thought, don't wait up._

He sends the message to his daughter who is renowned for waiting for him to arrive home. His mother will have gone to bed as soon they arrived home.

He regards the woman against his chest, curled into his side. He would never have expected Detective Kate Beckett to be a cuddler. He isn't sure that she is, at least not most of the time. Tonight had been emotionally draining, he had seen what she hid it from everyone else.

He presses a kiss to her temple and closes his eyes, allowing his other senses to enjoy the moment. The scent of her assaulting him, warm and content in her sleep. The feel of her weight pressed against him, heavy and slack as she sleeps. The tingle on his lips at the memory of the contact makes him do it again.

She hums softly in response. He isn't sure if it was a protest or enjoyment, he suspects if she were awake it would without a doubt be a protest, but with sleep so close it may have just been enjoyment.

He pulls her closer, supporting the small of her back with his forearm so she is not so hunched against him, so her shoulder is forced into his armpit, her neck resting against his shoulder not at the awkward angle it was at before. She doesn't even stir at his movements, her breathing stays even.

When his phone vibrates in his hand he reads his daughters message immediately.

_Okay, I'll see you in the morning. Make sure you get some sleep, x._

Quickly he replies, _Of course, pumpkin, sweet dreams._

He throws his phone across the couch. He'll regret it in the morning when he has to search for it. But right now, the woman against him is shifting again and steals his attention as she pushes against him. Apparently she is not comfortable anymore. He lets go of her legs, using an arm to support their weight, so she doesn't topple them over as she shifts. Except that movement backfires, she pushes against the arm of the couch with her feet, attempting (apparently) to lie flat. As soon as he spins, bring his feet up next to hers on the couch, she slips along the back of the couch, dragging him with her, using his chest as a pillow, the top of her head under his chin. He lifts his head, lays the pillow scrunched up behind him flat beneath his head and draws her closer to his chest. He reaches over her and tugs the blanket off the back of the lounge from behind her. He spreads it over her as best he can, she will keep his body warm enough. There is barely enough room for him to lay on his back, let alone have her curled into his side, but she doesn't seem to want to let him go and he doesn't care enough to force her. "Night," he whispers and kisses the top of her head.

"Night," she mumbles, her voice thick with sleep.

She is going to throw him murderous looks when she wakes and finds herself in this position, with him. But he can honestly say she is responsible, his only crime not stopping her. The thought should make him regret this, but he doesn't. He pushed a little then she pushed a lot, literally. He closes his eyes, a smile playing across his lips as he lets sleep overtake his body. He could stay like this forever, if it means her being unguarded he will curl her against his chest all day every day for the rest of his life. Hopefully though, she continues to peak her head out through the holes in the wall like this, the amount of time continually increasing. He knows eventually she will emerge completely and stay there, letting him protect her. But for now he is more than happy to wait, she's worth it.

**Thank you to those who have taken the time to review, but also thank you to everyone who has this on alert - the number alone is thanks enough : )**


	6. Chapter 6

"Quit starring at me and go back to sleep," he mumbles. His voice is so thick with sleep his words slur, but she understands. She has been busted, caught in the act. It makes her eyes dart to his face panicked, but she relaxes when she can't see the light reflecting off his eyes. She imagines the corners of his lips turned up slightly in sleepy satisfaction, she can't see though through the darkness which fills the room.

She must have tensed against him when he spoke because he shifts in response, tugging her back onto his chest from her half seated position and his other hand finding hers – still pressed against his chest. He links their fingers and hums contentedly.

She lets him tug her closer. For now it is easier not to fight him and return to plotting her escape route. She has already ruled out climbing over the back of the couch, she won't be able to get leverage off anything other than his chest and she will not be waking him up. When she had woken she had been slick with sweat (so had he) although she had woken with her head on his shoulder and the rest of her body angled (as much as humanly possible on the cramped couch) away from him. She had considered climbing over his chest, but quickly dismissed the possibility, if he woke to find them in that compromising position she isn't ready to find out what he would do. She had then considered shimmying down and climbing over his legs, of course this option had appealed, but once she had half sat to examine the possibilities, to add substance to her plan, she had found their legs curled together in an (from this angle) impossible mess. She had been examining their too close bodies, musing how it wasn't as uncomfortable as it should have been, when he had stirred. Specifically she had been considering how she had a twinge in her back from sleeping in the same position too long, but that was typical whenever she slept on the couch.

"Go back to sleep," he murmurs into her hair, nudging her scalp with his nose and he gets as close as possible.

"I can't," she confesses softly.

That gets his attention, jolts him a little further out of that sleep-filled haze. "Why?" he asks, voice thick and heavy with sleep as he twists, trying to look at her – she knows that's impossible in their current position, but he hasn't woken properly so he isn't aware.

There is no valid reason why not. "I have to… pee," she finishes softly, finally finding the only valid reason to move from their position.

"Oh," he says softly, loosening his hold on her before continuing, "off you go," he murmurs.

She feels him sink back into the couch, apparently getting comfortable so he can go back to sleep.

She lays next to him, wedged between the couch and his body. He expects her to climb over him, that or he is disoriented and thinks he is in bed.

She sighs. Carefully she climbs over him, careful to not let her body touch his in any way. His hand slides off her back, she hears the dull thud as it hits the couch. He doesn't flinch, still too drowsy to be aware. If he could see her at this moment she would never hear the end of the innuendos, but then again maybe not. A year ago she wouldn't doubt it, but now she does, things have changed.

She pads off to the bathroom. She shivers when her feet touch the cold tiles, didn't she have socks on? She ignores it, moving on.

When she exits the bathroom she stands in the hallway. She wants to just crawl into her bed and bury herself in the doona, but she wants to seek out his warm body and curl into his side. She rolls her eyes, groaning at her own stupidity. But it's not stupid, when she woke just now, despite being cramped on the couch, she had been comfortable. She could have stayed like that, she probably should have stayed like that. But staying like that, ignoring it and going back to sleep leads to a conversation in the morning, a very awkward conversation she isn't sure she is ready to have. If she goes back to sleep now, just crawls into her bed and leaves him on the couch they never have to discuss it. She is, however, beginning to consider the possibility of having that conversation, eventually.

Her reasons are her own, she knows he is giving her the time she needs to slowly comprehend this. He understands how slow this process could be. He is very understanding, but that makes it harder most of the time. It makes her question why she is fighting so hard against this. Why is she? Last night proved to her he understands her feelings about her mother, he is patient and attentive without crowding her. but then she had to go and fall asleep against his shoulder, but they had been so quite that she had shut her eyes to enjoy the silence, enjoy the feeling of his chest, his heart beat echoing in her ear.

Her mind snaps out of it. She really should get some new socks, searching for them on that couch is not an option right now. She heads to her room, rummages through the dresser in the dark, finding what she is after she eyes off her bed. The doona pulled taunt and completely undisturbed. It doesn't appeal to her to crawl beneath it like it should, but she knows she should anyways. She grabs the thick blanket from the end of her bed and heads back to the lounge room, her decision made.

She swats his leg, prodding him to move so she can sit on the end of the couch to put her socks on. He obliges, not making a sound, simply rolling onto his side, curling his legs up.

She wraps herself in the blanket and curls in between his legs and the arm of the couch. Only then does she realise, he is asleep in his dress shirt, tie and pants. Of course he had loosened the tie at some point, in the elevator maybe. But still, he can't be comfortable, although he sure looks comfortable. She curls deeper into her little corner. Just as she shuts her eyes, to let sleep overcome her, she feels his hand grab her own from where it rests on the back of the couch. His fingers brush her skin and cause her to open her eyes, tugging her from the edges of sleep.

He takes a moment, absorbing the image of her curled in a blanket against the end of her couch, far from him, but still just close enough, just touching him.

He wipes a hand across his face, checking she is still there.

She is watching him carefully, regarding him, waiting he assumes for him to speak.

But he doesn't.

Just puts his hand behind his head, runs the fingers of his other hand against the back of her palm. She curls her hand away ever so slightly, withdrawing from him, just out of his reach.

The fuzz which surrounds his brain is lifting like a heavy fog.

He needs to make sure she's not withdrawn from him completely, returned into the depths of her fortress she has built herself, to keep her safe, to keep the world out.

Their calves are pressed together, running opposite. His feet wedged into the gap between her knees and the back of the couch. If he is going to get any closer to her he has to move them.

When he slides them toward himself, bringing his knees closer to his chest, she lifts her knees allowing him movement then when they are gone she curls further into the corner, deeper into her blanket, further away from him.

He brings himself up, slowly, for both their benefit. He crosses his legs in front of him and rests an elbow against the back of the couch, leaning toward her ever so slightly, watching her. "What's the time?" he asks softly, flicking his eyes around her dark apartment, searching for a digital display. Anything to tell him how long before the sun comes up and she retreats away from him completely.

"Almost two," she murmurs, remembering her alarm clock in the bedroom not five minutes ago.

They can barely make out each others' faces in the darkness and that is probably best they decide at the same moment, separately.

She grazes her fingers along his elbow. So light it makes him shiver.

"Really?" she laughs, breaking the silence, easing the tension.

"What?" he queries, not understanding.

"You are ticklish on your elbow," she accuses, scoffing.

He isn't. Not in the slightest. Her touch made him shiver, he hadn't been expecting it, couldn't see it coming.

"Actually… No." He lets the words heavily hang in the air, his meaning apparent to both of them. She did that to him. He feels the couch cushion shift beneath his arm as she (he assumes) withdraws her arm.

He gives her a moment, to digest. He can imagine her eyes darting around the room as she desperately searches for an excuse to leave, to withdraw fully, find somewhere else to sit. Though her weight doesn't shift on the couch. Maybe he should move away then, back off and give her the time and space she needs. Make some lame excuse and head home.

"Really?" she repeats. This time she is not laughing. Not at all, she basically breathed the word. Even in the deathly silence of her apartment he had barely heard her.

He just hums in the affirmative. Any words he says will be too much for her, he knows that.

Then her fingers are back. Not moving against his skin like before, just resting there, careful not to make him shiver again. Testing the waters he supposes. He is enjoying this, watching her test the waters is something he never thought he would see. He thought he would be the one pushing forwards, moving past awkward moments and suggestive comments back to safe territory.

They sit like that a while, until he can barely keep his eyes open.

"You should go back to sleep Castle," she mutters, his breathing becoming increasingly even against her hand.

"So should you," his voice heavy as he fights it.

When she doesn't voice her agreement with his statement he speaks again, as if she hadn't heard the first time. "You need to sleep," he says a little louder, trying to be authoritative, it works.

"I know I just…" she trails off into nothing, unsure what she wants and what she doesn't. Well that isn't true, she knows she wants to sleep next to Castle, have him curl around her or curl against him. But she knows she isn't quite ready to tell him that, especially in those words. Earlier doesn't fill her with regret or anguish, it was okay, she hadn't meant to fall asleep against him and he seemed content enough to 'go with it' and not discuss it.

"What?" his voice back to sleep filled haze. He shocks her a little. Sliding his hand over the top of her own then gently down her arm, tugging her closer. "You okay?" he questions softly as he does.

She isn't okay anymore. His sudden proximity and the darkness put her on red alert. She is acutely aware of everything. His fingers now touching her shoulder, the way his thumb is hovering, drawing lazy circles on the fabric of her jumper.

She can't find the words to answer him, to reassure him. He has taken her words. How does she say it is everything it should be and more, but she can't let herself sink into it completely. She knows if she does she will never want to go back, never want him to let her go.

She is lost in her own thoughts that when his hand touches her neck she flinches against his hand, she is shocked by the darkness and her unawareness of her surroundings.

He apologises, pulls away. That snaps her out of it.

"No it wasn't that, it wasn't you. I just… it's dark and I was thinking and you… you caught me off guard. Sorry," she fumbles over her words. They seem empty, too vague and not sufficient.

"You don't have to apologise," he says softly.

"Yes I do." She is reaching in front of herself in the dark (shouldn't her eyes have adjusted by now? She can see the general outline of his body, but not the details – not his hands). She finds what she thinks must be his knee, satisfied enough she gives it a squeeze, trying her damnedest to reassure him.

Then his hands are there, one on her hand and one slightly higher, holding onto her wrist. Tugging her hand away from his knee, naturally the rest of her body trails behind. Her whole body closer to his, but not too close, she can feel his caution buzzing like electricity through the air.

"Why can't you go back to sleep?" he mumbles, returning to their conversation earlier, his voice a breath away. She catches the glint of his eye not a foot from her face.

She puts her other hand on his cheek. "I don't want to go to bed,"

"Why?"

She hesitates a moment. There are a number of reasons, but one is blaringly obvious too her now she is next to him again. "It's too cold in there right now." They both know she's really saying that he makes it warmer out here, the heat of his body radiating like a furnace, just for her.

He pauses a moment, then scoffs a laugh, the sound breaking the silence of the room. "That's what happens when you take all the blankets off your bed," he teases, like he's talking to a child. Her hand dislodged from his cheek begins to twirl an edge of the blanket beneath her fingertips.

She knows he understands what she was saying, her bed is too empty. But to suggest he come into her bed is a step neither of them is taking. So he is using humour to deflect.

"But they're good blankets," she defends, a hint of defence.

"Wouldn't know," he quips. He isn't serious, but she realises… he does in fact not have a blanket. Nor did he when she woke, it was curled around her body, only a small portion of it covering his chest – held tightly in her hand.

"Sorry, I can grab you one from the closet." She moves to stand, withdrawing.

His hand catches her leg just as she shifts her weight to stand. It doesn't throw her off balance, at least not physically.

"No, no no," he repeats softly. Pulling her back toward him, returning the proximity to their bodies.

"But you just said… Castle it is winter in New York, the heating in this place isn't that good," she says knowingly, like she has slept on her couch before sans blanket.

"No it isn't," he agrees solemnly. Then leans in close, very slowly, his movements exaggerated and animated as he moves his face beside her, cheek to cheek. He has to make sure he gives her a chance to understand.

"We can share," whispering in her ear like a five year old, sending a shiver down her spine.

"There are two blankets-" she says immediately.

"That other thing," he scoffs, "is not adequate." He withdraws his face from beside her own, throwing a glance behind him at what she assumes is the offending blanket. "I just couldn't move you before so I had to make do," he explains. His voice laced with memory of closeness and contentment, and the complete lack of need for a blanket between their generated heat.

She laughs at him, actually laughs. Couldn't move her? He is more than capable of lifting her, he has done it before on several occasions.

"Okay, I didn't want to wake you." It is partly true. She had succumbed to sleep so quickly that she had obviously needed it.

She scoffs. "You just wanted to snuggle."

"Actually it was you who wanted-"

"I was asleep, you were warmth," she defends before he can finish. She knows how thoughts of curling her body haunt her mind as much as others while she lays in bed at night. He doesn't need to remind her.

"This argument just turned full circle didn't it?" he quips, changing direction, leaving it there.

"Yeah… I think it did." She wrinkles her nose, they still haven't solved the blanket issue. It is still curled around her body and hers alone.

What she didn't notice in their banter is that he had put his hand to her waist and now that they were silent he was urging her forwards.

"You need to go back to sleep and you can't sleep curled in the corner like that, lay down," he prompts.

"Head to toe," she blurts before he pulls her weight too far over her fulcrum and causes her to tumble toward him, completely at his mercy.

"What?" He freezes, hand hovering over her waist. Afraid if he touches her again grievous bodily harm will ensue.

"It's when I sleep with my head up here and put my toes down there and then you sleep-" she explains.

"I know what head to toe is," he says softly. His reaction had been immediate. He hadn't expected her to fight him. Although now that she has stopped him, he isn't sure that he expected her lay beside him again. "It is quite obvious…" he says softly. He runs his hand over his face, the hand that doesn't still rest against her side. "I just thought you'd want to-"

"Cuddle?" She deadpans, he can see the look on her face, even though he can't actually see the details he doesn't need to. He can remember every line and curve of her face, of that expression.

"Well…" he stalls, "yeah, kind of."

"Not tonight," she says vaguely. Sometime in the future they both know they will do a lot more than sleep beside each other, but for now that is intimate enough. Their levels of intimacy are increasing she has noticed, but only in the small gestures and held glances. They did those things before of course, but now the frequency is increasing and the meanings are becoming less veiled in humour or torment.

"So soon?" he sounds hopeful, but he is teasing her. She knows.

"Castle…" she warns, her patience tested. "Lie down, please."

She slithers her feet along the back of the couch. If she is on the outside he will kick her off unintentionally, they both know that. She lays with her back to him, hoping she can ignore him if she can't see him. Ignore that too intense look and the desire that he is keeping masked only by the cover of darkness.

"Goodnight," he runs his fingers along her shoulder.

She hums in response, glad her eyes are closed and the blanket is tucked up to her chin.

She feels him shift behind her, the cold air moving underneath the blanket as he claims his portion. Then her pillow lifts a little as his feet wedge beneath it. He is too tall to put them anywhere else and she has claimed this corner for herself. His legs are against her back, his thighs at her backside. She is thankful he is taller. Normally she wears the heels to level the playing field a little. But in this case levelling the playing field would involve a form of more intimate spooning she has never experienced before. Luckily this is close enough.

She goes back to sleep as soon as she tells her brain to shut up and switches it off. Closing the door to the thoughts of proximity and what this means.

She knows that smell. Her brain recognises it before she is even fully conscious. Coffee, she could smell it from a mile away, although luckily it is close, very close.

"Why on Earth does your coffee machine automatically brew at five am?" Castle is behind her, his voice startling her awake a little more. She remembers instantly that they both slept here, on her couch. It doesn't fill her with the panic it should. He isn't lying behind her, but sitting up, in the curve of her knees. She rolls to face him, sitting up against the arm of the couch as she does so, but careful to keep her legs against his back. The contact is harmless; at least that's what she tells herself.

She doesn't answer his question, he knows what time she gets up to go to work, he is just mocking the fact she can sleep through the hum of the machine and he can't. He grabs the mug he had set on the coffee table. He hadn't been watching her sleep, he hadn't. He had just been debating how best to wake her up – that hot coffee couldn't go to waste.

"Thanks," she hums as she blows across the top of the cup before drinking deeply.

He could get used to this. Waking her up, dropping a coffee into her hands. The only part missing is he should be able to kiss her awake or at least in good morning. In time he will and it will be worth the wait.


	7. Chapter 7

It has been three days since he slept beside her on her couch. He hasn't seen her since that morning after she'd casually quipped she needed to shower and he could do with one too. He had taken the exit she may or may not have been offering him, hoping he would take, wishing he wouldn't. He hasn't had a reason to call her. she always calls when she has a case, so there have been no cases. Meaning she has, most likely, been chained to her desk completing reports and going through cold cases on the days she hasn't had to go to testify in court. Except now he has finished his book, only two days past the deadline, an uncommon occurrence but he has had some inspiration lately. He emailed the last chapter off to his editor fifteen minutes ago. He has spent the moments after the email disappeared from his screen curling and uncurling his fingers, then running his fingers through his hair, debating whether he should call her, check in. Maybe she has nothing to do herself and would appreciate the distraction. He doubts it. But checking in with her can't hurt, plus now his book is finished – she always likes to find out that snippet of information. Plus it means he has more free time on his hands for the next few months. He wants to make that known to her, unsure of his own reasoning.

Sure he wants her to know. He wants to give her some underlying message that he will be spending a great deal of his new found free time with her, and that doesn't involve shadowing her at the precinct (that has long fit into his writing schedule). It is the evenings and late nights he stays up writing that are now free and sharing more of those with her would help her, he knows they would help him show her how much he cares. That he is here for her whenever she wants him to be, as long as she wants him to be there. He dials, he has to see her before he begins to assume she is freaked out.

"Beckett," she answers with her usual greeting. The busy noises of the bullpen hum behind her, it strikes a twinge of envy in him. He wants to be there, amongst that hum of activity.

"It's me," he says, he can hear the smile in his own voice so he knows she can too. He reclines in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk in front of him, crossing his ankles, resting his head on his free hand.

"Hey," she says, her voice uncertain and nervous, like she's caught him off guard. But she doesn't say anything in response, staying quiet. He can picture her looking around, checking for prying ears or eyes. But he knows no one would think twice of her taking a call at her desk.

"Please tell me we have a case," he says softly, confessing to her what he hadn't meant to. But the words had tumbled from his mouth before he could stop them. She is silent for a long moment on the other end of the phone. Then he notices the background noise has vanished, fallen away completely like she has ducked into the break room for some privacy, feigning inability to hear him over the hum if anybody were to ask, or he were there to accuse.

"Unfortunately not," she quips. Her memory triggered back to the last time they had a conversation like this, right before he was held hostage in a bank. The similarity sends a chill through her body, causes her to lean against the bench in front of the coffee machine he brought for them, for her. to any passing observer she looks like she is making a coffee, taking a call. But she's not, she just needed a place to hide out, the flush which she had felt rise across her chest when his voice had come through her phone had made me feel self-conscious, even though no one around had noticed she deemed she was better to be safe than sorry, she didn't feel like dealing with the ribbings of fellow detectives, at least not yet.

"Damn," he responds vehemently, not bothering to veil his unhappiness. It snaps her out of her thoughts.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly, cautiously, as if the lighter she treads the less likely it is to be something serious.

"Nothing," he says quickly and she releases a breath she hadn't realised she was holding. "I just… I finished the book." He is being elusive, she knows he didn't really call just to tell her this, at least not in the middle of the day.

But the way he is beaming with pride makes her smile. "That's great," she responds. She's confused, but tries not to show it. he should be delighted with himself, buzzing in the hum of his freedom, but instead he has called her immediately. It is like he is seeking her out.

"It is," he volunteers slowly. She senses a 'but' and gets it. "But it takes away from the moment when no one is around. Alexis is at school and my mother is… actually I don't know where she is," he scoffs a little over the phone, amused by the older woman's antics. Having gotten sidetracked he comes back to his point. "I just needed to make it official, tell someone."

She laughs at him. It is soft and gentle, but she is laughing at him. It doesn't hurt like he would think. She is lighter, more carefree than normal, something in her different. How had he not noticed?

"What?" he asks, joining her in breathy chuckles. He removing his feet from the desk, choosing to instead curl his body in on itself in a futile attempt to bring the phone at his ear closer, to make it seem the woman on the other end is pressed against his body, curled in the chair with him.

"Nothing I'm just… It's funny. Finished your book for five minutes, Castle and you're already looking for something else to do." She is silent for a moment, and he doesn't respond. He knows she has something else to say so he will give her the time to say it. "Its been too quiet around here. Even Ryan and Esposito have noticed." She is saying she misses him without saying the exact words, he knows her too well for it to go by unnoticed. He echoes her previous breathy laugh, then realises maybe she was laughing for the same reason he is now. She missed him and couldn't voice it, and the soft laugh was his way of acknowledging he knew exactly what she was saying. They are quite the pair. He has always known they avoid conversations about feelings and never acknowledge their actions. Hell one of the worst fights they've ever had had been over it, both realising the truth of it then never speaking of it again – sticking fiercely to their pattern.

"You there?" she asks softly, breaking his ravine.

"I could come in and visit, bring you coffee. Keep you company for an hour?" he suggests. He needs to see her, even if it is in the bullpen surrounded by a dozen other cops, while she is distracted by her work.

"No," she says too quickly. Then winces at her own word choice. "I didn't mean-" she stammers, fumbling over the words, trying to correct herself, convey her true meaning.

"It's fine. I understand," his voice is soft, trying to conceal his hurt.

She feels terrible, she's crushed him. "I didn't mean it like that." She hears him sigh on the other end of the phone. "I was actually going to suggestive we meet up later, have coffee or pizza or something. If you come in now Gates will-"

"Flip out? Have an aneurysm?" he offers, his tone lighter. She knows he understands.

"Maybe both?" she agrees, smiling. "The boys are off looking into an old case, chasing their tails I think. So it's just me anyway."

"There is nothing wrong with my coming in to pay my favourite detective a visit and give her a cup of coffee. Maybe distract you for an hour," his tone is mischievous. She knows if she doesn't stop him soon she will find herself agreeing to this.

"Castle," her tone has a warning in it that she rarely has to use anymore. He no longer pushes the boundaries within her team, threatening to put them all in danger with carelessness. He found his place long ago so she doesn't have to handcuff him to the car anymore to keep him out of trouble.

He ignores the threat, continues. "I have to make up for lost time." She can almost hear his smug smile through the phone.

"I'll call you when I finish, Castle," she says, her statement has a definite finality to it.

"Just show up, surprise me," his tone is still laced with the smug smile she could hear before.

She rolls her eyes and hangs up the phone, wordlessly agreeing, not bothering to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>She had debated for a short moment headed straight from the bullpen to his apartment, but had decided against it. Too eager, she had told herself. Sure she wanted to see him, had missed him amongst his meetings, desperate attempts to finish his book and their lack of case. But she knew he wasn't going anywhere, he would probably sit and stare at the door until she knocked. Maybe not literally, but he would be waiting for her. Plus she wanted to wash the musk of the monotony of her day from her skin, that odour which she could smell on herself, stale coffee and a disgusting hint of sweat that always lingered in the air. A classic indication she had spent many hours at her desk doing monotonous tasks.<p>

It is like a fresh start to the day when she pulls on a pair of jeans. The clothes she wears to work certainly aren't uncomfortable by some standards, but the ease of slipping into jeans and a sweater is so much more comforting than the dress pants and blouses she wears day to day. She pulls on her boots, flat ones this time – she doesn't want to sleep on the sleet forming on the footpath below, while she juggles the coffee she said she'd bring. He has a coffee machine, it _would_ just be easier to use that – but there is something far superior about a coffee you do not have to make yourself.

She slips back into her jacket, still a little warm from her last wear. She hasn't dried her hair, simply let it hang and dry. She'll regret that as soon as she steps outside she knows, she checks her wrist – normally she has a hairtie, just incase. Not tonight apparently, so she grabs a scarf, at least it will keep the hair off her neck while its wet. She slips her phone and wallet into her back pocket, and grabs her keys from the table.

* * *

><p>"Why Detective what a lovely surprise?" he greets, taking both cups from her hands to allow her to shed her coat and remove her boots. He takes in the sight of her, nose and cheeks pink from the cold. Hands deathly pale from being exposed to the cold for that long moment between her car and his loft. Once she's shut the door behind herself, he eases away from her, back to the movie he has paused in the lounge room. He knows she'll follow, he does after all have her coffee.<p>

"Thanks," she says softly as she takes the cup in both hands, holding it close to her face, letting the heat seep out through the small hole and touch her face. She isn't watching him, she is studying the frame frozen on the tv screen. "What's on?" she queries softly.

He notices for the first time it is still paused. He has been too intent on the sight of her, on her presence, that the outside world has disappeared, everything falling away except for the woman in front of him, drinking deeply from her coffee cup, darting her eyes to his every few seconds. Apparently, waiting for him to speak, or maybe she can feel his gaze studying her, memorising every facet of her as the heat from her coffee radiates against her skin giving her a soft glow as it settles warmly in her stomach, causing her to ease further back into the cushions of his couch, relishing the comfort they provide.

The image on the screen is completely non-descript, the only clue is the familiar New York skyline. He is not answering her either, apparently completely uninterested in the movie. But that doesn't explain why he is sitting on top of a blanket that someone has not too long ago been curled beneath. She is assuming it was him. The idea of him curled on his couch triggers memories of the last time she saw him, curled on her own couch, with her. Their prior sleeping arrangements lead to a tingle of longing and a twang of unease. She hasn't slept properly since. She keeps feeling the quilt brush against her skin, the sheet catching in her movement and thinking it is him that he has curled in beside her. It always causes her to both panic and relax, simultaneously. Impossible she knows, but it happens. The idea he is beside her completely reassuring and comforting, but the question of how he got inside sends a jolt through her, always makes her mentally check that she flicked the locks on her door.

He sees her shudder, it jolts him into awareness. He volunteers the title, tells her it only just started. She smiles that explains the city skyline, she decides. She agrees to watch, curling her legs up leaning her head against the back of the couch.

When she goes back to her coffee, he drinks deeply from his own. Realising that the beverage isn't quite filling his stomach, indicating he needs to find some dinner. "Have you eaten?" he asks from behind his coffee cup.

He sees her raise her eyebrows, then she shakes her head.

"Grilled cheese?" he offers. When she nods he leaves her to her coffee, returning a few minutes later with a small stack, cut into quarters. He drops the plate onto the couch beside her, gestures for her to take one. He watches her as she hesitates at first, the watches her grab for another as soon as she finishes the first. Apparently she is hungry.

She finishes her fifth piece before that heavy fullness settles on her stomach, joining the coffee. "Thanks Castle," she says softly, draining the last of the coffee from her cup. She glances over at the still silent screen. "This movie sucks," she smirks as she reclines back on the couch, letting her head lull to the side, waiting for him to turn it on. Except he does the opposite, changes it to the TV, tells her to pick something as he tosses her the remote.

"Just put the movie back on," she tosses the remote back.

* * *

><p>"I shouldn't let you recline on the furniture," he mutters softly. Rousing her from her almost slumber. Apparently he has been watching her keenly enough, frequently enough to notice just as her head lulls to the side, succumbing to sleep, then snaps her awake as her middle ear registers the imbalance. He's never seen someone fight sleep so much since Alexis was a toddler, insisting she wasn't tired, wanting to keep playing.<p>

"This movie sucks," she defends herself. She fails miserably, her voice thick with sleep and unable and unwilling to open her heavy eyes.

"Twenty minutes ago you were happy enough to watch, now you're deeming it too boring?" he teases, shifting closer to her, tugging the empty cup from her hands, it dangling precariously in her hands, threatening to drop into her lap.

"I'm… I'm just tired," she says softly, finally opening her eyes to look at him for a second. She slides her shoulders back a little, away from him and shuts her eyes again.

"Kate," he breathes. He has moved closer again, somewhere beside her, she can feel the couch sagging under his weight, lulling her body slightly towards his, she doesn't bother to open her eyes to him. "I'll drive you home now, then pick you up in the morning-"

"No its fine. Watch it and I'll just rest for a minute," her voice is so thick with sleep and her head is nestled deep into the crevasse of his couch cushions that he doesn't want to force her to move.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure Castle. I just… wanted to visit, mmkay?" Her words slur and he can tell she's about to sink into sleep, give in to her fatigue.

"Okay," he whispers before he tucks a stubborn strand of hair, which has been hovering over her nose, trailing across her lips back behind her ear.

He does go back to the movie, for the most part. He has seen it many times before so he watches her during those tired scenes he knows too well or finds poorly written, or acted.

She is dead to the world, completely unaware. She doesn't even stir when a loud sequence is played and has him diving for the remote to turn the volume down. He should have seen it coming but he was too busy studying the way her bottom lip quivers as she sleeps, her tongue twitching against her teeth. She must be talking in whatever dream she is having.

He stops the movie again, turning it off because he isn't watching it anyway. Even if he hadn't seen it before he would under no circumstances be watching the television screen and not the woman next to him. The sudden silence causes her to shifts in her sleep, aware the atmosphere of the room around her has changed as she sleeps. He scooches over next to her, touching her shoulder gently with his whole hand, giving a gentle squeeze, trying to catch a grasp of her through the hazes of her sleep.

At his touch her body jerks, her eyes open as she gasps beside him.

"It's okay," he mutters. "It's just me." He slides his fingers back and forth, attempting to soothe her as she wakes.

"Castle," she whispers, confused, but it isn't a question, it seems more like a greeting.

"Hey," he says softly, resting his head on the back of the couch watching her closely, his fingers still grazing her shoulder.

She blinks several times before she opens her eyes, just like she did when she woke on her own couch, right before he handed her the coffee mug, not only weighted with the hot liquid but a hope of another morning watching her wake.

"Creepy Castle," she accuses, screwing up her face and turning away from him, showing him the long curve of her neck as she looks behind her at the silent television.

"Come on, I'm driving you home," he offers, standing up in front of her extending a hand to help her up.

She takes his hand, but shakes her head in disagreement, tugging him back toward the couch, settling back into his couch for effect.

"You are even more stubborn when you're tired."

She just hums her in response, smug half smile on her face, her eyes closed against the world. Even with her shut eyes she shifts on the couch to face him, her whole body twisting so each section of her body is only a few inches from his. She is almost completely curled against the curve of his body, not touching him at all. His body tingles as he examines her legs, her thigh, her hips, her torso, her shoulders and her head, all within an inch of him. if he just shifted his weight on the couch she would rest against him, he would tip her weight cause her to overbalance. But he won't. She isn't initiating anything so he won't push. He had vowed long ago to pass her the reins. However, at the first sign of an invitation, he can't promise anything.

"How come you're so tired?" he asks softly, unsure if she is still awake or if she has fallen into a light sleep he shouldn't wake her from.

"Huh?" she asks, lifting her head off the couch slightly. He realises she must have been on the verge of sleep and he caught her just in time, though really he shouldn't have. He should send her up to the guest bedroom seeing as she refuses to let him take her home. But not yet, he wants to spend more time with her, talk to her, find out why she is so tired – their week has not been as strenuous as others have in the past.

"I asked how come you're so tired," he repeats softly, meeting her eyes as she blinks heavily, attempting to rouse herself. Really he wants to ask how come she is so tied now, she had sounded fine on the phone earlier, more than fine.

"I uh… I haven't slept in three days," she whispers, her voice much louder than a normal whisper as she overcomes the sleep still weighing on her tongue, her eyes finally staying open, fixed upon his own.

Three days since he stayed with her. "How come?" he whispers, it is almost a stage whisper, matching her volume.

She gives half a shrug. "I don't know exactly," she offers, only half a lie. She has a theory. She knows her body is seeking his own, seeking his warmth, seeking his comfort and seeking him.

"Have you missed me?" he teases. A wide smile graces his face, having deciding to lighten the mood before she has to explain herself. He knows what he's said will ring true, but she will no doubt have some witty comeback.

Except she doesn't say anything. She stares at him, eyes a little wider, mouth slightly agape, tongue twitching begging for permission to form words. She licks her lips, closes her mouth and swallows.

She doesn't need to say anything, they both know it. It was written all over her face. So she gives him half a smile. "The benefit just…" she chews her lip, taking pause before continuing. "It changed things."

He blinks slowly, as if he makes any other movements she will vanish from in front of him. he needs to let her speak, be patient, silently urge her to find the words without placing any pressure upon her.

"I feel… lighter, like this giant weigh has been lifted," she says softly. She thinks she may finally have some closure, have grieved her mother for long enough that she can focus on remembering her. It won't stop her missing her, nothing ever will, but she has found that unique balance. The balance between wishing she were here and simply understanding that she never will be and nothing can change that.

He touches her forearm, timid, his fingers just grazing her skin. "That's great, but-"

"No, buts tonight, Castle" she interrupts; it sounds almost like a plea. She didn't bring this up so they could discuss all the dead-ends in her mother's case, stare for hours at the files and hope something pops out to them. She knows that for now, the case has no leads. He told her that, but he looks almost willing to investigate it with her again.

"I wasn't going to…" he says softly, stroking the length of her forearm, her fingers skimming the back of her hand. "I wasn't going to ask about the case." He swallows at her expectant eyes. "I was going to ask if it was gone for good, the weight I mean." He hopes she understands, hopes he hasn't crossed too far over her line, but just enough that she has to take notice, shot him down and make a hasty retreat. But he will watch her go, follow her tracks and do the same again, when she pops her head out again like he knows she will. He knows she can't resist testing the boundaries either.

She looks deep in thought a moment, her eyes watching his fingers still grazing her skin, lingering now on the back of her hand. "I think so," she says, still fixed completely on their contact, their only contact. She watches as he slides his fingers under her palm, she turns her hand to accommodate the touch, but doesn't move otherwise. He does notice the definite twitch in her fingers as he grazes the skin of her palm with his fingertips, resuming his trail of lazy patterns across her skin. He studies her, watches the half smile on her lips as she takes his breath away, completely unaware.

The sound of her gentle sigh breaks his trance, stops his fingers in their tracks. He looks up to meet her eyes, except he finds them closed again, almost asleep.

"Hey," he says, tapping her palm with his fingers, rousing her. "You need to go to bed," he instructs. This time when he stands in front of her, tugging on her arm, urging her to stand she does so. He keeps himself close, watching her sway slightly as her blood pressure reconfigures to this new position, touching her elbows to steady her, finds her gripping his forearms, using him for support.

"Ready?" he asks softly, not quite yet ready to step back away from her, sending her off to a separate room, separated from her by not only a wall but several and a flight of stairs.

When she shakes her head, gripping his arms a little tighter, sliding her hands a little closer to his elbows. "Another minute," she breathes out, still swaying slightly, closing her eyes against it.

He doesn't miss it, crowding her, dropping her left elbow so he can put his right hand at her waist.

"Okay," she hums, sliding her left hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder, her voice soft as she moves to step through his right arm. But now he isn't ready to move, doesn't want to let her go again, his hand slipping around to the small of her back as she steps forward.

Startled at his refusal, she meets his gaze, finds it fixed upon her intensely. But he isn't staring at her, it is like he is looking through her, his eyes having worn a hole completely through her and travelled to some other place. It must be a happy place, he way his lips have turned up at the edges suggests it is.

She clicks her fingers in front of his face then quickly returns her hand to his shoulder.

She watches as his eyes tear back to hers, his gaze suddenly intense. He is too close, his eyes are too intense for him to be standing this close. Except, she doesn't want to move. She regards him, tilting her head to the side, jutting out her chin a little in defiance. "Castle," she breathes.

When he hears her speak he can't help it, he swallows, watches her eyes follow that lump of his larynx, of his Adam's apple as it rises then falls. Then when she flicks her gaze back to his eyes he exhales, the breath shuddered, completely ragged. The quick intake not providing nearly enough oxygen to his brain. "Kate," he exhales, his body demanding more of everything.

He watches her eyes flutter closed, her soft smile as she leans her head forward, moving at snails pace until her forehead finds comes in contact with his shoulder, her ear pressed to his neck, her hand gripping his should tightly.

Only then does he allow himself to act. Slipping his hand from her back all the way around her, encircling her entire body with one arm. He doesn't need to press her body closer, she is already doing it. All he has to do is hold her firmly in place and wait, watch the top of her head and cease the right opportunity. As she shifts, nuzzling her face into his neck, her breath hot against his skin he wraps his other arm around her. he doesn't need to, her slender frame fits firmly into the crook of one elbow, but he wants her to know he isn't letting her go. For as long as she will let him he will stay exactly like this, absorbing every moment he can, memorising the way her body fits exactly into the curves of his own.

He presses his nose into her hair, meeting her ear he moves slightly, nestling his nose into the depth of hair behind it. He doesn't miss the shiver it sends through her body, how could he? Her body is conformed to his own completely and that shiver wasn't suppressed.

Then he crushes her against his chest as he feels it. Her lips are at his neck, her teeth nipping the skin there, her tongue just darting out to soothe it. He breathes deeply against her ear and it spurs her on, she nips a little harder, lets her tongue linger longer as she nuzzles her nose against his, silently urging him to tilt his head, to stop trying to get her to face him. He obeys, moving the hand he had resting between her shoulder blades to the base of her neck. He hums as she slides her hands around his neck, a hand buried in the hair at the back of his head.

She is trailing upwards he realises as she breathes hot against his ear. Then she stops, catching her breath beside his ear, whether the torture is intentional or not he doesn't know. But he takes advantage of her added height, she must be on her tiptoes, levelling the playing field. He kisses the corner of her jaw now that her hair has slid back, exposing the skin of her own neck. Her neck is a blank canvas, but he will explore that another time. He knows there will be another time.

When his lips touching her skin she gives a sigh of contentment that could almost be a breathy moan. He wouldn't have heard it if her mouth hadn't been at his ear. He nips the skin, grazing his teeth along it, moving slowly towards her mouth, giving her ample opportunities to pull back, withdraw. Always looking out for her.

He presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. She doesn't flinch. He knows she has steeled herself, prepared herself for this. So he does it again, receiving the same reaction. Then he slides his nose over hers, kisses the other side, twice.

He withdraws slightly, resting his nose against the soft skin of her cheek. She has to do this. She has to lean forward, step over her own boundary. Plus, she did afterall start this, it is only right she finishes it. He opens his eyes to sneak a glance at her, gauge her expression, finds her eyes half closed staring at his mouth, gathering courage he assumes. He presses his lips tightly together, grazing his teeth along his bottom lip, watches her study his movements. He closes his eyes again, content to give her a second. Just after he exhales, drawing back in breath he finds she has her courage. Pressing her mouth over his completely, delicately, once, twice, three times. Then her mouth is wet and hot against his. He doesn't refuse her tongue when it slides across his bottom lip, urging him to let her taste his tongue.

Neither can breathe, but neither wants to stop. When he extracts himself from her, resting his nose against her own, giving her as much distance as he can bear she speaks, her breath hot and ragged against his lips. "Night Castle," she says, dropping a lingering kiss to his lips and slipping from his arms. She heads straight upstairs, he assumes to the guestroom, his eyes following her, his mouth unable to speak, but he doesn't follow her. She no needs some time to process, some time to adjust, some time to formulate her plan of attack. All he knows is he will not be sleeping tonight, the memory of her body pressed against his own and her mouth hot against the skin of his neck will torture him all night. But she did the right thing, he knows, pulling back, stopping them both, having the control. He just has to let her process what has just happened, realise what it means, though he assumes she already knows, she just has to force herself not to fight it. Remind herself it is okay, he will wait. As long as necessary for her, he wouldn't mind reminding her if need be.


	8. Chapter 8

She needs him. He can hear the strangled cries coming from upstairs, the noise carried right through the loft. Maybe he shouldn't go up there, let her cry herself out, pretend he can't hear her. She doesn't need him to swoop into her room, clutch her to his chest and reassure her that everything will be fine, that he is here to make it better. But what if she does need him to? What if he needs to swoop in? What if something is seriously wrong?

So he goes. He untangles his legs from the sheets, a sign he has been sleeping deeply, dreaming, and heads for her. He ignores the warning in his head to put on a shirt to protect him against the chill of the night, the damp air lingering even in his heated loft, who knows how long she might need him for. But she needs him, he doesn't have the time to stop to fuss. Who knows how long she has been crying, what on earth has affected her.

As he makes his way upstairs he silently hopes she hasn't woken Alexis, although the cries are muffled they are distinct as they carry through the house. When he reaches the door he hesitates, glad it is half open giving him a chance to peak inside while she remains unaware of his presence. He sees her back to him, the shudders wracking her body as she succumbs to them, her chest heaving as she draws in breath. What has her so upset?

"What's wrong?" he whispers as he enters the room. "It's okay, I'm here," he soothes moving straight to her side, but keeping his distance, careful not to startle her. If he startles her it will only make it worse. If he touches her too soon she will cry harder.

She turns suddenly at the sound of his voice. Her face whipping around to meet his gaze, her long body twisting around following suit, a completely involuntarily response with her rapid movement. She uncurls a clenched fist reaching out toward him. She is basically beckoning him over, a silent invitation with her eyes and her movements. Her eyes are drinking him in, but her body is still quivering with the sobs that escape from her mouth.

He is at her side in an instant, leaning over her, running his fingers over her arm, a lame attempt to soothe her as he utters words of reassurance that aren't even audible over her cries. It's a good thing, he isn't even sure they make sense.

Her cries don't subside at his gentle touch, she needs more from him. All she can do is stare at him, her mouth opening and closing, he doesn't know what she wants, what she is trying to say. Though it is blaringly obvious she needs him. As new tears form in her eyes, escaping down her cheeks along the worn tracks of others, he slides his arms around her, pushing a wrist beneath her shoulders and one under her thighs. He doesn't make a noise as he lifts her, drawing her up off the mattress too easily. He swears she should be heavier than this, that earlier when he lifted her off the couch she was heavier, but she's not fighting him now, she's letting him lift her. Maybe it is because he is so focused on her ragged breathing, her quiet whimpers.

He carries her to the chair in the corner, a space filler he is now infinitely thankful for, dropping heavily onto the soft cushion, bringing her down with him. She doesn't make a noise, the sudden movement silencing her for a moment before the sobs escape once again.

"It's okay, it'll be okay," he mutters the promise into her hair.

He pulls her tighter against his chest when she doesn't respond, pressing her face into his neck, hoping his steady pulse and the gentle rise and fall of his chest will soothe these too violent sobs wracking her body. When she pushes an arm behind his head, sliding her fingers along his skin until they tangle in his hair, he feels the tug as she grips, the sobs shaking her small frame.

"What's wrong?" he mutters, tilting his head back so he can press a kiss to her damp cheek. He can't tell just what has caused her to be this upset. There are no visible signs of what has roused her. It must have been a dream, nothing at all in the room is out of the ordinary. In the past when he has hugged her to his chest, her cries become silent gasps, content to be pressed against his body and soothed by his murmurings, letting the waves wash over her. But tonight she needs more than soft mutterings, a hand stroking her back. She needs to hold him, clutch onto him to ensure he never leaves her. He won't leave her, not like this, not until he finds out what's wrong or she resigns to the urge to sleep. Even then he isn't sure he wants to climb into his own bed, what if she needs him again?

Again, she offers no response to his question, so he pulls her back against his neck, content to hold her as long as she needs him to soothe her, remove whatever has upset her. He isn't sure she even went to sleep, but he hopes this is just the result of a bad dream. If he had been at fault she wouldn't be curling against him like she is. But he will wait until she's ready, for him to let her go, she'll tell him. Slide her hand off his neck, push back against his chest and fight against his grip for freedom of a different position, away from him.

He'll sit here as long as it takes, and he does. He had started counting the small squares on the sheet, then progressed to analysing the shapes, amazed at how when he lets his eyes relax, stop focusing, they become hexagons.

Then the cries taper off, her eyelids fluttering her eyelashes across his neck he notices her breathing change. She's fallen asleep pressed against him, again. This is becoming too common of an occurrence.

"Is everything okay?" Alexis' voice is a whisper, but it crackles like thunder through the silence of the room. He hadn't even known she was awake. But she seems to be aware of the sleeping form resting against his chest and has the presence of mind not to rouse her.

"It's fine. Go back to sleep, all taken care of," he says trying to keep his own voice from rumbling through his chest and rousing her. But she doesn't stir, doesn't even twitch, already asleep. When he looks back at Alexis she gives him half a smile and he can't help but beam back at her, she doesn't even seem surprised to have walked in on them in this position. He is so grateful to her. How he managed to raise the woman before him, shape her into the person she is, he will never quite know.

"Night dad," she mutters. "Make sure you don't just sit there and watch her all night," she teases. But she is serious. He knows she understands how he feels. He probably would watch her, but only due to the difficulty of the delicate extraction process which is inevitable. Trying to stand with her splayed across his chest, hold her in his arms, keep her content against him while he transfer her dead weight back to bed, then having to find the courage to let her go and leave the room. The movement would rouse her, waking her would be worse than letting her sleep. If his partner woke to find him in this position she would chastise him, swat his chest and withdraw her warmth from his chest, then urge him to let her sleep and return to bed.

"For now we'll stay right here," he whispers softly so only she can hear (not that she does, she is deeply asleep), his tone conspiring as he presses a kiss against her hair again. He will eventually put her back to the bed, let her sleep properly. She won't stay comfortable curled against his chest so tightly for much longer. But for now he lets himself relax then, close his eyes and still his chest, feeling her chest rise and fall gently against his own, completely in sync with where his breathing should be. When he breaths again, exhaling deeply then inhaling as gently as possible, he feels her twitch, a hand touching his chest, her soft skin meeting his, grazing along it as she seeks out something to hold onto.

A noise catches in her throat, somewhere between a sigh, a cough and a tickle she's trying to clear when she catches his hair again. He doesn't open his eyes to look down at her, check she's still breathing, hoping she hasn't woken. If he stays perfectly still she will settle against him again.

He is right, her breathing evens out again, suggesting she is calm. But he's wrong, snapping his eyes open when he hears a voice.

"What're you doing Castle?" His partner's voice echoes through the quiet room, there is no movement on his chest though. She may be unhappy, but she hasn't disturbed their position. He breathes a sigh of relief. He blinks at her, the crossed arms and stern gaze render his defences useless. He doesn't really having the words to explain himself.

"If you kept nursing her she'll never sleep through the night by herself," she chastises. They've already discussed this. It was him who suggested the specific plan of attack. But it is so hard to let her cry herself out, exhaust herself and then soothe herself to sleep.

"But…" he protests, sitting up straighter but finding no argument. He lets her slide her arms beneath their daughter, tugging her from him, soothing her as she rouses slightly. Always attentive and patient with her, she presses her daughter's face to her cheek nuzzling her neck with her nose, assuring her it's just mummy. The word falling from her mouth never ceases to close his throat, stopping his breathing. He really should move past that, soon enough his daughter will be dropping the word herself. He isn't sure what that will do to him either.

"You've got Daddy wrapped around your little finger," she mutters to the girl, meeting his gaze over their daughter's head, smiling at him as he stands, moving toward them both.

"Mummy too," he whispers, touching her back then sliding his hand over her arm, letting her squeeze his finger into her tiny hand. Her eyes don't open. He watches as his partner cradles her back, bringing the baby away from her chest, preparing her for the transition to her own bed. He watches the tiny legs kick, feels her grip his finger, clinging to the contact so he doesn't force her to let him go just yet, unable to bear it himself. He allows his partner to place her gently on the mattress, settling her down, placing the small toys beside her head so if she wakes again she will be distracted by the colours, then slide her hand over her daughter's cheek then down her torso and down her leg, lingering on the girl's foot before pulling away.

He wraps his free arm around her, drawing her against his side. "You're stronger than I am, I can't resist her." He presses a kiss against her temple as she sinks into his hold, eyes fixed on the baby in front of them, completely missing the opportunity to taunt him for his inability to stay away from either of them. Their daughter is so much like her it still catches him offguard, a quiet and content baby, even by Alexis' standards. She has her mother's determination already, and her fierce independence, even at only a few months old.

"She's amazing," she says. The wonder and awe in her voice doesn't shock him, he has found her watching their daughter too many times to count with the same look in her eye, the same tone when she comment after remembering his presence. It took them a long time to get here, but they had persevered with each other, found their rhythm, made their life together, step by agonising step. For so long he had been attentive and caring, from such a distance it had tormented them both, but when he'd explained why she had thanked him for it. He had confessed he didn't want them to screw it up, that he wanted to make sure everything was on the table before they progressed. He had, she hadn't realised until he'd pointed it out. But she noticed as soon as he pointed it out, right there blaringly obvious and she missed it. She had been so grateful that his efforts had been useless, the pace had been something of her own fault. But then once both aware of the things they needed to consider before stepping off the deep end, they had worked together. They had after all basically been in a relationship for years before admitting it to themselves let alone one another. But for months he did nothing more than kiss her goodnight, clutch her against his body then say goodbye, just like that first night. Then the anticipation had become too much and their pace drastically increased.

She drops his finger, twisting her body in her sleep, getting comfortable against the warmth of her bed. His partner tugs his hand back to her, knowing if she doesn't pull him away he will disturb the baby again.

"She's fine, let's go back to bed," she says softly, kissing the underside of his jaw then extracting herself from his grasp. She watches as his eyes slide from the baby to her then back again, double checking before he steps away. She waits for him in the hall, but is still surprised when he slides a hand under her baggy sleepshirt, grazing his fingers across her stomach, peppering her neck with kisses.

"Mummy can't resist her either," he says against her skin, knowing the exact spot that causes her to shudder when he breathes against it, when her skin is wet, his breath warm.

"Mummy is better than Daddy," she mocks, arching her neck, granting him access.

He doesn't continue his assault, much to her disappointment so she spins in his arms, kissing his jaw again. He tightens his grip on her, back manages to pull his jaw away, replace it with his lips. "That you are," he kisses her softly. "I've got quite the soft spot for my girls," he hums against her mouth. "All three of you," he hums again, kissing her slowly, lingering. The day you all team up against me, will be the death of me," he jokes and this time she kisses him.

"Just you wait," she threatens, chuckling against him, making him hold her closer.

"The anticipation will be horrific." He feigns disgust, kissing her again before urging her to walk backwards down the stairs, back to their bed.

She does, trusting him, knowing that even if she trips he will pull her back against his chest, stopping her fall. He has never let her fall. She doubts he ever will, even if it would be for her own good. She is so grateful for him, so indebted to him for everything he has ever done for her that she doubts she will ever find a way to tell him, show him just how grateful she is for his understanding, for his kindness, for his patience. But it doesn't mean she won't try.

_fin._

**A/N: I know I'm horrible. But thank you ****all**** for reading, reviewing , alerting and favouriting (now I'm making up words). But seriously, I hope you have enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing it. Until tomorrow, folks.**


End file.
